The Scarlet Lion Read Online Free PDF Page A

wife experiences the same satisfaction as her husband, her seed will not descend to mix with his and she will not conceive." She chuckled at Sybilla. "If you're feeling full enough for the sickness, my girl, then your lord must have discovered the art of pleasuring you in bed."
       "Elizabeth!" Isabelle spluttered with a look at Sybilla who had flushed bright pink.
       "Well it's true!" Lady Avenel defended herself. "Even some priests say so. The ones who don't are juiceless old prunes who've never had a good fu—"
       She bit off her words as the chamber door opened and William flung into the room. He glanced swiftly at the circle of women, said, "Isabelle, a word," and strode over to an embrasure further down the room. Sweeping aside a motley assortment of children's toys, he sat down on the cushioned chest under the window splay, two vertical frown lines etching the space between his brows.
       Isabelle's mirth faded. Abandoning her sewing, she left her women and hastened to William's side. "What's wrong?"
       He breathed out hard and rubbed his neck. "Ach, nothing out of the usual. I don't even know why I am surprised. Is there any wine left, or has the sewing party drunk it all?"
       Something had riled him; he didn't usually make acerbic comments about her women. "No, there is plenty left to drown your woes," she said sweetly and fetched the cup and flagon herself, exchanging eloquent glances with her ladies as she did so.
       Having taken a long drink, William rested the cup on his thigh and sighed out hard. "I've just been talking to a messenger from Baldwin de Béthune."
       Isabelle sat down beside him, plumped a fleece-filled cushion at her back and looked at him expectantly. Baldwin de Béthune, Count of Aumale, was William's closest friend and currently with the King. Even when William was absent from the court, such contacts kept him well informed. Whatever the news was, it had certainly put a burr in her husband's breeches.
       "The Count of Mortain is under suspicion of conspiracy and Richard's in a quarrelsome mood. I tell you, Isabelle, sometimes I want to knock their heads together until their brains run out of their ears—not that it would make any difference except to my own satisfaction."
       "What do you mean, under suspicion?"
       He eyed her sombrely. "Philip of France claims to have letters implicating John in treason. John's supposed to have asked for Philip's aid in mounting a rebellion against Richard—who is not best pleased."
       "It was only a matter of time," she said.
       His nostrils flared. "Why is everyone prepared to believe the worst of John and not allow that he might just have learned his lesson and matured?"
       "So you don't believe it is true?" She managed to school her voice to calm enquiry, avoiding the flat note that usually entered it when they spoke of Richard's brother.
       "Of course it isn't," he said impatiently. "Philip's as wily as a fox and false rumours like this are a fine way of creating discord. John might be devious and self-seeking, but he's not mad and he would have to be insane to go conniving with Philip. The last time he dabbled in conspiracy, Richard was locked up in a German prison. John won't risk anything with Richard close enough to breathe down his neck." He drank again, his movements swift with displeasure. "Whatever his flaws as a man, John has been a model of loyalty to Richard these past five years."
       "So what will happen now?"
       "It's already happening. John's gone off in a fury at being accused and God alone knows where."
       "Perhaps to Paris," she said with pessimism. "Perhaps the King of France has succeeded anyway."
       William shot her an irritated look. "I sincerely doubt he'd turn to Philip, but he might just be sufficiently annoyed to go and plot some mischief by way of revenge."
       "Has Richard done anything about it?"
       "Not yet, from what Baldwin says. He's decided